An incomplete list of Arthur's preferences, by Dusk
by Taywen
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. Domestic fluff, Arthur/Dusk, Restoration!verse.


Disclaimer: The Keys to the Kingdom series does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Garth Nix, etc.

CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP

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An incomplete list of Arthur's preferences, by Dusk

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These are the things that Arthur likes:

(1) _Arthur likes tangible reminders._

Dusk has watched cuts heal in a matter of minutes or bruises fade in moments, but there is a scar on Arthur's chin that is testament to the past.

A month or so into their relationship, Dusk walks into the room to find Arthur examining the ring of bruises around his wrist from where Dusk had gripped him too roughly the night before. Dusk had apologized profusely, but Arthur had assured him he was fine.

There is a strange expression on Arthur's face that Dusk does not recognize; he seems not to have noticed Dusk's presence. He's halfway through another apology when Arthur looks up, startled. His cheeks redden, eyes skirting away from Dusk as he mumbles, _it's fine Dusk, don't-_

Later that night, Dusk sucks a bruise just beneath the edge of his jaw, high enough to be visible if Arthur wears anything short of a scarf. He catches Arthur staring at it in the mirror, though he pretends not to notice. Arthur smiles to himself, absently touching the hickey from time to time until it fades a few days later.

Dusk makes sure to leave marks after that.

(2) _Arthur likes it when Dusk speaks_.

He has little interest in science fiction (something about travelling to the House in his childhood and being ruined for that sort of thing ever since) but he likes to listen to Dusk read aloud.

Dusk is not terribly vocal, befitting his role within the House, but the more time he spends with Arthur, the more he finds himself talking about all manner of things.

Some nights (or days, or early mornings) Arthur will press Dusk down into the bed and coax all sorts of sounds from him, until Dusk's hoarse voice breaks around another gasped _please_-

(He _loves_ it when Dusk begs.)

(3) _Arthur likes_ terrible_ movies_.

After the first few times, Dusk can't stand to suffer through the movies without making some complaint. He settles for making popcorn to share, putting a pair of headphones on and reading while Arthur watches the latest travesty.

"This doesn't even make any sense," Dusk says, scowling at the television screen. How had Arthur talked him into watching this again? "I mean, it's not even consistent with what they established earlier, it's-"

"-Dusk, I picked a scifi movie so you would like it," Arthur complains.

"This, this is not science fiction, it's garbage," Dusk declares. "Arthur, I'm sorry, but it's _garbage_."

Arthur's smirking, obviously entertained, when Dusk turns to explain, in excruciating detail if he must, how awful this movie really is. He's been played, Dusk realizes. And really, there's only one way to wipe the smirk off Arthur's face after that.

(4) _Arthur likes coffee_.

Dusk hates it. It's too bitter, unless Dusk puts so much sugar in that it's unpalatable. He settles for making a small pot for Arthur when he drags himself out of bed on weekdays, so there's a cup for him when he gets back from his run.

Then Dusk makes his tea, which he maintains is a perfectly respectable drink (and superior to coffee in every way), thank you very much, Arthur.

(5) _Arthur likes running_.

Dusk is ambivalent to the activity. Arthur tends to wake up at unholy hours of the morning, before the sun rises (and no matter how Arthur argues that, since it's still dark, it must be the perfect time for Dusk to rise, Dusk will refuse to budge from their bed) to go running.

On weekends, Arthur goes running in the middle of the day. Dusk is more than happy to accompany him at this eminently more reasonable hour; he has even taken the step of wearing athletic pants, although he views them with the same distrust as the original clothes Monday had supplied so many months ago.

"It's weird," Arthur says idly, barely panting as Dusk tries not to keel over in exhaustion. There's something wrong, here, it can't be _natural_ that someone who is basically mortal is outdoing a Denizen like Dusk, but he can't get the breath to complain. "I mean, I haven't had asthma for _years_, but I never get tired of running."

"Have you considered the Olympics," Dusk manages, gratefully accepting the water bottle Arthur presses into his hand.

"That wouldn't even be fair, Dusk, don't be ridiculous," Arthur mutters; Dusk is almost entirely certain that Arthur's cheeks are more flushed than they were a moment ago, but then Arthur is pulling him in for a kiss and he forgets that thought completely.

(6) _Arthur likes to tease._

In every sense of the word.

(See also: items no. 2 & 3.)

(7) _Arthur likes to play music._

Dusk perhaps should have known this already (Arthur _did_ defeat Grim Tuesday with a song of his own composition, after all) but he is still surprised when he comes home to find Arthur sitting at the piano in the front room. He had thought the instrument fulfilled a largely cosmetic purpose; he's never witnessed Arthur at it before.

Dusk pauses in the doorway, groceries forgotten, and simply listens. He would enjoy anything Arthur creates, and he is hardly well-verse in musical theory or appreciation, but Dusk thinks that Arthur's playing is most skilled.

The song comes to an end, Arthur's perfect posture relaxing into the slight slouch he usually displays as the last notes fade into silence. His fingers rest gently on the keys; in profile, he looks satisfied.

Dusk applauds, startling him.

"Oh, were you listening the whole time?" Arthur asks, reddening.

"Not the whole time," Dusk says, approaching him. "Long enough."

"It wasn't great," Arthur says modestly. "I haven't played since..." He trails off and Dusk mentally finishes _since Leaf died_. "Yeah, I haven't been practicing," Arthur concludes, shrugging.

"I thought it was lovely," Dusk says sincerely.

Arthur smiles shyly up at him. "Yeah?"

"Yes," Dusk agrees, joining him on the bench. "Will you teach me?"

(8) _Arthur likes children_.

He doesn't teach actively any longer, though he has several young pupils whom he tutors on a regular basis. When they walk in the park near Arthur's house, Dusk sees him watching the playing children wistfully. He considers asking Arthur about it, but then he remembers the Original Architect and her sons.

"I've thought about adopting," Arthur remarks absently one afternoon as they sit on a bench in the shade. "But they'd grow old and I would stay the same. Or maybe I can age, it's not as if I've tried, but I wouldn't die and _they would_ and I think that would be worse than never having them all together."

Dusk presses their shoulders together wordlessly; he does not know what words he could offer.

Arthur presses back, a melancholy expression on his face. Nearby, a squirrel twitters at a rival. A dog and its owner walk past, the dog pausing to nose at them curiously before its owner tugs impatiently at the leash.

Arthur exhales heavily. "Ugh. Well, that was depressing," he mutters, visibly shaking it off. "Maybe Art will have kids or something and I can spoil them."

Dusk feels distantly horrified at the thought. "Do you think that likely?" he asks.

Arthur shrugs, jostling Dusk's shoulder. "I was talking to Sunday. Apparently, Art and Suzy have been dancing around each other for _years_."

"Oh," Dusk says faintly, disturbed by the implications. Then, suspiciously, "Wait; since when do you speak with Sunday?"

Arthur smiles innocently at him and changes the subject.

(9) _Arthur likes thunderstorms_.

There isn't much in the way of weather in the Lower House. It has no pretense of a natural environment as other Demesnes have. Sometimes, there is a faint breeze. An artificial sun lights the Lower House during the day and goes dark at night.

"Wait," Arthur says, disbelieving. Lightning strikes outside the window, illuminating his incensed expression. "You've never been in a thunderstorm before?!"

His excitement is infectious, and Does doesn't even complain when Arthur drags him out of the house to the park, the two of them pressing closing under a too-small umbrella.

"Come _on_, Dusk! Stop dragging your feet," Arthur says, laughing as he darts ahead. He's soaked in an instant, though he doesn't seem to mind; it's not as if either of them is affected by the cold.

The broad field that doubles as a sports area is deserted. Arthur flops down in the centre of it as lightning flashes overhead, followed almost immediately by rolls of thunder.

"Isn't it great," Arthur says, slicking his wet hair out of his eyes as he gazes up at the darkened sky.

Dusk sits at his side, closing the umbrella and tucking it under one arm as he regards the display. "It is," Dusk agrees, wrapping an arm around Arthur's shoulders when he leans again him.

(10) _Arthur likes to gossip._

Most Denizens do, too. Dusk himself has little interest in passing scandals or other 'juicy' (frivolous) details, though he's overheard his fair share. People tend not to notice him, which suits Dusk just fine.

The neighbours are obnoxiously nosy, which Arthur, bafflingly, finds charming. He always seems to have a new story about so-and-so from two doors down or across the street. It is probably a good thing that Arthur is in contact with the House again, but this renewed connection comes with the downside of supplying Arthur with yet _more_ gossip.

"I think Sunday was in love with Saturday," Arthur says over dinner, wrinkling his nose when Dusk spits his water everywhere.

Mopping it up with one sleeve, Dusk manages to croak, "What."

"It's not like he told me as much but the way he talks about..." Arthur shrugs.

"She's-" _dead_, Dusk doesn't finish.

"Art's thinking of bringing her back, apparently," Arthur says dismissively.

"And the rest of the Morrow Days?" Dusk had thought Art had resurrected all the Denizens that he could.

"Something about the Keys having lingering impressions of their previous wielders," Arthur says, waving a hand as if to encompass the utter incomprehensibility of resurrecting beings who had, as far as the Universe was convinced, never existed.

Dusk nods.

"Also, Sunday told me your siblings were shunning you," Arthur adds, the sharp look in his eyes belying the casual tone of his voice.

"Shunning is a strong word," Dusk hedges after several moments spent overcoming his shock.

Arthur narrows his eyes but thankfully lets the topic drop.


End file.
